


Somebody Told Me You Loved Me Again

by phangirlingforphan



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Reality, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phangirlingforphan/pseuds/phangirlingforphan
Summary: they fight, dan leaves, and then it’s been three years and they haven’t spoken since. a tragedy forces them to reunite and soon enough those still raw wounds from three years ago are showing again.





	1. All We Ever Do Is Say Goodbye

The only suits he owns are designer. He’s got Alexander McQueen, Givenchy, Marc Jacobs and a custom-made Burberry one that he wore to London Fashion Week last month.

His hand trembles as he fastens every button.

He looks in the mirror. The suit fits, he doesn’t have a single hair out of place, his shoes are patent leather, his jacket cost more than a month’s worth of rent on his flat and it even has one of those pretentious handkerchiefs with his initials embroidered onto it displayed in the front pocket.

Who wears a six-thousand pound suit to something like this?

Two days ago he’d newly signed a brand deal with Yves Saint Laurent to feature them on his fashion blog that he’d only recently launched and had been booking flights to Paris in the back of a taxi.

His phone had started ringing and he’d thought nothing of it. Admittedly it was slightly odd that Chris Kendall was calling him, he hadn’t recalled talking to him in months and he was pretty sure Chris was in L.A right now shooting a movie, but nevertheless he pressed accept.

“Chris, hey dude, to what do I owe this pleasure?” He’d said cheerfully. London’s energetic buzz and candor passed him by in a neon whoosh outside the cab windows.

He considered staying in Paris for a few days longer when he went, for pleasure. He could get some shopping done, reserve a room at his favourite hotel near the Eiffel Tower, visit that new exhibit at the Louvre and -

“Dan, it’s about PJ. He’s dead.”

* * *

 

 The car picks him up at 8 and he clambers inside, stoic. He says nothing to the driver because he has nothing to say.

Cassie, his manager, has tried to ring him seven times periodically from 6 this morning; he wonders why she can’t grasp the concept of leaving him alone - like he’d asked.

The journey to Brighton is arduous and long, the three shot black coffee in his hand matches the darkness under his eyes.

There’s only one thing that’s crossing his mind and he’s sickened that it’s not PJ.

When you spend seven years of your life committed to somebody, whether it be in friendship or romance, it counts, no matter how it may have ended.

Phil had known PJ for longer than he’d known him, the news must have absolutely destroyed him. If things had been different he would have consoled Phil, held him, been with him to grieve together, or even just given him a damn hug.

Things were different. Things _are_ different. Now he has to face Phil for the first time in three years and sweep their tarnished history under the carpet for the day, as if that’s possible.

The adult thing to do would be civil, make small talk, let him have space and not overwhelm him; but when the man who was supposed to be the love of his life is going to be right there in front of him, he can’t honestly say he’ll be able to hold himself back.

If the last words you say to someone are “Delete my number and don’t contact me again. This is it.” it’s not so simple to reappear three years later.

Dan steps out of the car with anxiety clutching at every inch of him. He thanks the driver and stares ahead. The car drives away and then it’s just him and PJ’s flat staring back.

The last memory he can recall of being here was when he and Phil celebrated PJ’s 26th birthday three years ago. And then life got complicated.

 Everyone will be inside. Sophie, poor Sophie, she needs comfort and friends, not Dan cowering by the front door too afraid of the man he’ll inevitably see inside.

It takes a lot of strength that he doesn’t have to open the door.

Silence really is too loud.

Chris is the first person to approach him. “Dan, hey mate, I’m glad you could make it.” He pulls him into a one-armed hug and claps him on the back. The smile he wears is genuine but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Dan stammers a raspy, “Of course,” back. 

There’s a few groups of people milling about the house. A sea of faces glance at him, each wearing different expressions. Chris looks apprehensive and absolutely wrecked beyond repair. Sophie, sat on the sofa, offers a meek smile to Dan - it says thank you but her eyes say she’s lost. PJ’s parents, Sophie’s parents and friends of PJ’s he’s only met in passing.

Someone’s missing.

“He went out to get some air.” Chris says, as if reading Dan’s mind.

“Is he okay?” Dan asks, and then immediately shakes his head. “That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever asked, I’m sorry, I’m not with it at all, I just - ”

“Hey, hey, it’s fine,” Chris interrupts. “I don’t think any of us are expected to be with it today.”

Dan makes the rounds. He gives a hug to Sophie, who ought to be sick of hearing the word ‘sorry’ by now, and then he shakes PJ’s parents’ hands, again apologising.

He’s jittery and transparent; everybody knows who he wants to see and they’re somehow okay with the fact it’s the main thing on his mind - until Dan realises that what he’s feeling isn’t of any importance, not today.

“You can go and find him, you know.” Sophie says.

He’s sat beside her on the sofa and he’s aware that he’s been glancing at his phone and watch every few minutes, drumming his fingers on his kneecaps and fidgeting.

“I’m not going to leave,” Dan promises. “I’m here for _you_.”

She surprises him when she laughs quietly. “If PJ could see you right now, he’d force you both into the same room and lock you in there until you sort whatever this feud is out.”

“It’s not that simple, Soph.”

“Yes, yes it is. Dan, listen to me, life is really fucking scary. A week ago I was having a go at my husband for leaving his socks on the floor and today I’m going to his funeral.”

It’s one of those moments where the words say enough and Dan needn’t utter a single syllable.

She takes his hand, clasping it tightly. “You’ve both been my friends for a long time. I don’t want you both to be unhappy and living in regret. Go find him, tell him what you need to say. Please. Not for me, for PJ.”

Dan says thank you in the form of a prolonged hug and kiss on the cheek.

“You’re amazing, Sophie. Don’t forget that.”

“Go get him, Dan.”

* * *

 

Dan steps out the house and into the bracing, icy wind. The sky bleeds royal blue between steel clouds and rays of sunshine poke through, their warmth hugging his skin. For a split second he imagines it’s PJ wishing him luck.

He picks his way down the length of the beach, revelling in the feeling of fresh air rushing around his body. His suit flaps in the wind and his poorly designed shoes definitely aren’t suited for pebbles, but the feeling he gets from it all is too magnificent for him to care.

London is smoggy, busy and polluted by stale air and crowded pavements. City life truly has it’s pros and cons and whilst he takes advantage of being able to order a takeaway at three in the morning, he also envies quaint, countryside life where there nearest park isn’t a mile away and you wake up to a cockerel crowing and not a succession of car horns sounding.

He loves his apartment; a sleek, gorgeous penthouse in the epicentre of the city, overlooking towering skyscrapers and dazzling sunsets every day, but he couldn’t tell you the last time he had salty sea air tickle at his tongue.

His eyes zero in on the suit-clad figure sat in the middle of the mostly deserted shoreline.

It’s a blessing that it’s so quiet. He can hardly walk down a street in London anymore without someone badgering him or taking photos of him. Fifteen million YouTube subscribers, his photos in Vogue and GQ and a presenting job on national TV every other weekend has an interesting effect. It’s a lifestyle he tries not to question.

Phil has his head in his hands, fingers tangled in his hair and loss and grief emanating from every fibre of his suit jacket.

Dan’s feet crunch against each pebble as he gets closer. His footsteps are getting louder with every step, in sync with the beating of his heart that thrums in his ear.

He has to speak his first words to Phil in three years and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Phil.”  

Phil’s head lifts. Their eyes haven’t met for so long but he’s never forgotten how beautiful Phil’s are.

He doesn’t know what Phil will reply with. He can scream at him if he wants, tell him he hates him, heck Dan knows he deserves it, but he can’t take any more silence.

Phil’s eyes are glassy, his face tear-stained and blotchy. His hair is longer now, thicker, how Dan always hoped he’d grow it again, but a bit more contained and less lion-mane-esque than before.

He gets up and starts to walk away without a second glance, expressionless.

“No, _wait_ ,” Dan is pleading before he can stop himself. “Please.”

Phil stops. He turns and chuckles without humour. “Why are the first words you’re saying to me the last ones I said to you three years ago?”

“Because life is fucked up.”

“No, that’s just you.” Phil fires back with venom.

“I deserve that.”

Phil shakes his head. “You deserve so much more than that.”

“That’s also true.”

“It should be you in that coffin, not PJ.”

The nine word sentence is a bullet to the heart.

“You don’t, you don’t mean that. You’re just grieving,” Dan stutters back, trying desperately to keep his voice even. “I know you hate me, you have every right to despise me, but you don’t mean that. You’re a good person with a good heart, Phil.”

Phil lurches forward and points a finger in Dan’s face. “Don’t you dare tell me who I am. You chose to forget me and everything we were. You know nothing.” He snarls.

Dan’s heart races, his palms become clammy, skin crawling, Phil’s angry voice tuning in and out of frequency, vision blurring and wavering. The sea looks lopsided.

“Phil I -” he says, although he’s not entirely sure any words come out at all.

“There’s nothing you can say, Dan.” Phil says, and he continues to speak. Dan can see his mouth moving but he can’t decipher the words or sounds.

“I, I, I, I.” His legs give up.

Something lunges at him, keeping him steady and lowering him onto the pebbles slowly.

“Shit, Dan, look at me.” Fingers click in front of Dan’s eyes. “Look at me.”

Dan does his best to meet Phil’s eyes. His body shakes violently, breath ragged.

“Okay, now, copy me, and breathe in and out. Slowly. You can do it. In time with me and the sea, okay, big gulp in, big breath out.”

It takes time, it always does, but Phil’s right when he keeps repeating that he’ll be okay.

Dan mutters out a quiet, “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” when his shaking has reduced.

Phil sighs in relief. “You don’t need to say sorry. I didn’t know you were still getting panic attacks.”

“They never ended. They got worse when…” His voice trails off awkwardly. “When things changed.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Phil is watching Dan carefully.

“I’m okay now. You, you don’t have to sit with me.”

“I,” Phil hesitates. “I know, I just remember how you had them before.”

“Thank you for helping. I feel like that was a long time coming, that entire panic attack, I’ve felt almost separate from my mind for days now. My mental stability is in tatters.”

“I know what you mean. None of this feels real.”

Dan squints at the grey horizon and sucks in a breath. “I should have contacted you sooner, when we got the news, I’m sorry I didn’t. I can’t imagine how you must have been.”

Phil shrugs. “Nothing that anybody could say would have made it any easier. I was at my Mum’s thankfully, so I had her.”

“That’s good. That’s really good, actually. How is your Mum? And Dad?”

“Let’s not do this, Dan.” Phil says, shaking his head.

“Do what?”

“Pretend like we care. Make smalltalk. You have your life and I have mine, let’s leave it at that.”

It stings.“If that’s what you want.”

“It’s how it has to be.”

“Sure thing, Phil.”

This is how it’s going to be for the rest of his life. This will be the day they see each other and then life will press play and they won’t talk again until the next time.

They sit together, shoulder to shoulder, old friends and lovers, looking out over the blue-grey horizon and listening to the soft foam of the sea as it grazes the sand.

For a second, it feels like nothing ever changed.

* * *

The funeral is as expected; people cry, songs are played, the sun shines into the church the entire time and Sophie gives a reading that shatters your heart into more pieces than you thought possible.

The coffin disappears behind the red curtains, PJ’s favourite Radiohead song is played on an organ and then he’s gone. Just like that.

There’s a wake afterwards back at the house. People nibble on sandwiches and sip second-rate wine whilst Dan idles in a corner, his phone buzzing every few seconds. He hates that he has to go so early but if his manager leaves him one more voicemail he might self-destruct.

He approaches Sophie and envelops her in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay longer,” Dan murmurs. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Sophie insists, wiping away a few stray tears and smiling sadly. “I’m just really glad you came.”

“And _please_ , call me or text me if you need anything at all.”

Sophie thanks him and asks quietly, “How did things go with Phil?”

Dan has to clear his throat from the lump that appears every time Phil’s mentioned.

“Honestly? He hates me,” Dan admits with a heavy shrug. “I deserve it, it’s me who walked out on him, he has every right. I guess, I guess I’d just hoped we could be okay, at least for a day. I don’t expect him to ever love me again but just to be okay, I’d, I’d really have liked that.”

Sophie rubs Dan’s arm. “I think it’s my turn to give you the sympathy now, Dan.”

 

He says goodbye to Chris, who makes him promise to call and keep in touch more.

“It feels like only yesterday we were all together, in London, messing about, having fun and filming silly videos,” Chris says. “Nostalgia fucking hurts.”

“I know,” Dan replies. He sniffs back a couple of tears. “I wish we could go back.” He can’t stop from side-glancing at Phil when he says that.

Then, Chris says something that catches him off guard. “Me too, man. Now, listen, please look after yourself and take as much time out as you need. You’re a busy person, I know, but you need to remember to slow down sometimes.”

Dan can’t muster anything in return except a handshake that turns into a hug that lasts nearly a minute. It feels overdue.

 

Phil is the last person to say goodbye to. Dan doesn’t know how to do this.

He walks over to him, scratching the back of his head. “I, um, I’m off now. I have to, uh, go.” He says rather pathetically, thumb jerking towards the door.

There’s a glimmer of disappointment on Phil’s face. “You have to go back to work that quickly?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot on right now.” It’s a weak excuse - true, but weak.

Dan catches the “when haven’t you,” that Phil mutters under his breath. Anger flares across Dan’s chest.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “Don’t make this harder than it already is for me.”

“For _you?_ ” Phil asks incredulously. “This day has been hard for _you?_ Wow, you’re still as selfish as you were three years ago when you left me.”

“Yes it’s been hard for me,” Dan hisses back. “Having to see you, knowing how much I hurt you and how stupidly I handled the entire thing. But I’m here, and I’ve tried and I’m not claiming to be perfect or that I can ever make amends with you, but _shit_ it’s really fucking hard to see you after all time. Especially when it’s at the funeral for one of our best friends.”

Dan takes a deep, calming breath and hastily wipes away the tears on his cheeks. He refuses to break in front of Phil.

Phil says nothing, he keeps his eyes aligned to the drink cradled in his hands. Dan’s disappointed by how childish the gesture seems.

“I’m sorry, Phil, and that isn’t ever going to be enough, but I am. Take care of yourself. Please.”

He gets flashbacks to the last time he did this when he walks out the front door. The regret feels exactly the same. It’s not admitting defeat, it’s giving Phil what he wants and that isn’t him anymore.

* * *

The top comment on the ‘Saying Goodbye to Dan and Phil’ video hasn’t changed in two years and he still thinks about it every single fucking day.

 

_You guys made me believe that soulmates weren’t just for people in love; they were for friendships too. I hope you find each other again one day._

Dan hates how they threw it all away. They had this fantastic community of viewers who were passionate and loving and hilarious - they were more than just subscribers, you could talk to them like they were your friends and the connection they both had with the millions of them was a beautiful thing. People envied them but praised them for how exceptionally well they handled this level of fame they’d accrued. It felt as if they were unstoppable.

There’s that phrase about how everything good must come to an end, except Dan and Phil was something nobody imagined ending. At least, not in the way it did.

 

* * *

 

“I’ve just gotten back from my best friend’s funeral, Cassie,” Dan hisses into his phone. “I think I deserve a day off, don’t you?”

He shoulders open the door to his apartment and stumbles inside, phone wedged to his ear.

“How can you expect me to jump on a flight to Paris right now?” His rucksack is tossed to one side and he sinks into a stool at the breakfast bar, a hand raking through his sea breeze attacked hair.

“Because this is important, Dan, this is your career, and YSL don’t ask for just anyone, you know.” Cassie shrills.

He almosts caves. He’s about to say he’ll be on the next flight and demand that _she_ pay for him to have first class to say sorry for making him to do this. But his mind is wandering.

It feels too much like the last time, three years ago.

* * *

 

 _“Vogue?_ The _Vogue? That magazine? Fucking pinch me!” Dan exclaims. “You did not just say those words to me, Cassie!”_

_“They want you to give an interview and photoshoot about your biggest fashion influences tomorrow in New York. I’m serious. I have a business-class flight on hold for you tonight. I just need an answer. Although I’m pretty sure I know what it’ll be.”_

_That’s what makes Dan halt. “Oh, fuck, tomorrow?” His heart drops to his feet._

_“Yes, tomorrow.” Cassie repeats, stern. He can practically see that vain on her forehead popping. “Why would that be a problem?”_

_“Tomorrow is my anniversary with Phil.”_

_Cassie sighs angrily on the other line. “Do not tell me you’re blowing off having an interview in Vogue magazine because of your boyfriend.”_

_“I have to. Oh fucking hell. He’ll be so upset, Cass.”_

_“Anna fucking Wintour doesn’t ask for just anybody, Dan. This could be massive for you.”_

_His eyes glance out to the hallway; he can faintly see Phil’s silhouette as he watches something on TV, his laugh echoing off the walls every few seconds._

_Maybe Phil would understand. They could always celebrate their anniversary when he gets back, and maybe Dan could buy Phil something special in New York to say sorry. He’d seen Cartier in his web history the other week, he could pick him up a nice bracelet or locket from there and surprise him._

_“Okay, I’m there. I’ll do it. Fuck it.”_

_-_

_“Vogue? Dan that’s huge!” Phil practically shouts, grappling him into a tight hug and swiftly kissing him on the cheek. “I am so proud of you, you always said you’d like to branch into fashion, too.”_

_“I know, it’s mental.” Dan agrees. “I said I’d go tonight, I hope you don’t mind me missing our anniversary too much. We didn’t really have plans anyway, did we?”_

_Dan says the words as nonchalantly as he can, except his eyes are focused on his phone as he reads a text from Cassie with flight details so he doesn’t witness the way Phil’s face crumples._

_“I um,” Phil starts to stutter. “Well.”_

_Dan looks back up. “This is okay, yeah?”_

_“I mean, obviously I’d have liked to have spent tomorrow with you, but this is important, it’s fine.” Phil says. The smile he gives couldn’t be more forced and Dan knows that, and Phil knows Dan knows he’s disappointed._

_Phil wants Dan to say he won’t go, that their relationship is more important, that it’s too short notice, and he truly believes he will._

_“Thank you!” Dan leans forward and gives Phil a quick kiss. “I promise we’ll celebrate when I get back in a couple of days. Now, I really need to pack because I have a flight in three hours. Holy fucking shit, New York.”_

_-_

_He’s rummaging through his underwear drawer when he realises he’s got most of his pairs in the wash basket. He’ll just have to borrow Phil’s._

_Phil’s still in the lounge when Dan steps into his bedroom and opens the drawer. He grabs three pairs of underwear when he sees a small, satin box with the word ‘Cartier’ embossed on the top of it._

_Guilt fumbles and gropes from the pit of his stomach to his throat in one gigantic lump. He prays it isn’t what he thinks it is._

_It is. And it’s spectacular. Every facet of every diamond cushioned on the white gold band shimmers under the low light of Phil’s room._

_“What are you doing?” Phil shrieks._

_Dan starts, nearly dropping the ring box. “Oh fuck, I was going to borrow some of your underwear and I saw it and I…” His voice trails off._

_Phil swallows thickly. “It was for tomorrow.”_

_“Tomorrow,” Dan repeats. “Tomorrow. When I’m in New York. Oh fuck, Phil.”_

_“Just put it back and pretend you didn’t see it.” Phil’s voice is small._

_Dan gapes. “What? Phil I can’t pretend I didn’t see a diamond engagement ring in your underwear drawer!”_

_“You_ have _to, Dan! Seeing as my plans are ruined you’ll have to just wait.”_

_“I asked you not even five minutes ago if you had any plans for tomorrow and you said no!” Dan splutters._

_Phil just rolls his eyes and snatches the ring out of Dan’s hand, stuffing it into the drawer and slamming it shut._

_“What’s done is done. You have to go.”_

_“Phil,” Dan begins again, quietly now. “You should have told me you had plans for us tomorrow and I would have said no to this thing.”_

_At that, Phil raises an eyebrow. “Really?”_

_“Of course!”_

_“Okay then,” Phil says and folds his arms. “If I asked you right now not to go, what would you do?”_

_“That’s not fair.”_

_“Of course you’d go, because you do this all the time. And you know, I keep my mouth shut and I pretend I’m not hurt sometimes, but work has taken over your entire life and you’re becoming this other person and it doesn’t suit you.” Phil spits the sentences, contempt dripping from every word. “I’m fed up.”_

_“Well excuse me for trying to make something of myself outside of YouTube!”_

_The hurt slaps Phil in the face. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”_

_Dan backpedals desperately. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. You know I didn’t.”_

_“No, go on, it came out exactly how it was meant to. Keep talking about how little I’m progressing and how you’re better than me, go on Dan.”_

_Dan groans in frustration. “This is ridiculous!” he shouts, throwing his hands up. “I’m not criticising you, Phil. Maybe I could hook you up with someone from my management, Cassie has loads of contacts and - ”_

_Dan’s interrupted by a loud, humourless laugh from Phil._

_“Can you hear yourself talk, Dan? I don’t want help from your precious management, thanks.”_

_Dan’s arms drop to his sides. “Why can’t you just be happy for me?”_

_“I am happy for you and I’m always going to be proud of you, but you’ve forgotten where you started and you’re turning into an asshole.”_

_“About ten minutes ago you wanted to propose to this asshole!”_

_“Just go, Dan!” Phil yells. “You’ve fucked up our entire anniversary. Just go to New York, meet Vogue, do the interview, stay in some over the top hotel and come back with a better attitude, will you?”_

 

* * *

“I’m not going. Not today. They’ll have to wait.”

Dan realises he hasn’t cried, at least not properly, since PJ’s death, and now he can feel himself coming undone.

Every emotion heightened, skin crawling, his heart hurting so much that he can’t believe he’s alive and Phil telling him he wishes he was the one who was dead.

Phil was right, Dan should be the one who died, PJ was such a good guy with a beautiful outlook on life and now suddenly they have to talk about him in the past tense whilst Dan traipses through life with more money than he needs and no happiness or love to go with it.

“You’re making a fucking huge mistake, Howell. This could be massive for you.”

“Do you remember three years ago, Cassie?”

“What? Why are you talking about 2016?”

Dan rubs his temples with his fingers. “Fucking hell, do you remember three years ago? When you got me an interview with Vogue? And I flew to New York?”

“Yes of course I remember. It was all everybody spoke about for weeks.”

“It also ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Cassie tuts. “Is this about that Phil guy again? Dan you’re the hottest guy in showbiz right now. You don’t need him. It’s been three years. I have plenty of other people I can introduce you to.”

Dan stares ahead of him. His kitchen is the size of the entire first flat he rented with Phil in Manchester, why he owns three cookers he doesn’t understand, and there’s four bedrooms. The city view might be beautiful and it’s a stunning apartment - except he doesn’t _need_ it. He bought it because he could, not because he wanted it. It’s not a home. In fact, he’s lived there for over two years now and it’s never felt like his own.

“I don’t want you to introduce me to anybody else. I want you to understand that this might seem like I’m living some crazy, glitzy life but Cassie I’m fucking miserable.”

“Dan, are you going to Paris?” As if she’d have tried to understand or shown an ounce of care.

“No, I’m not. My mind’s made up.”

“Then say goodbye to your fashion career.”

He’s not shocked by how little he cares. “Go ahead. In fact, while we’re here, I’ll say goodbye to you too.”

“You’re incorrigible. Call me when you’ve come to your senses, Howell.”

“No. Cassie, you don’t understand. I fucking quit.” The freedom that goes hand in hand with the words feels invigorating.

Within the space of forty-eight hours he’s found out his best friend has died, faced Phil and so many of his other friends for the first time in three years, been told by Phil that he should be the one who’s dead and now he’s quit his management and jeopardised his entire career.

It’s a surprise that the only thing he does is throw his phone against a wall.

 

\- END CHAPTER ONE.


	2. Slow Dancing In A Burning Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which dan wrestles with the press, his feelings for phil and receives a phone call he wasn't expecting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit, the reaction to the first chapter was absolutely amazing, honestly, thank you so much everybody who commented and left kudos, it means the world!
> 
> warning: this chapter contains talk about depression. 
> 
> again, thank you. thank you being patient and kind and i hope this is okay. and no it's not super long, but this is helping to get things going, the next one will be much longer i can assure you!!!

He makes a front page two days later. It isn’t pretty.

He’s thirty missed calls from Cassie, his Mum and his publicist later when he decides to emerge from his bedroom - except it’s less emerge and more stumble whilst clutching his throbbing head.

Same old, same old: aspirin, a green smoothie and a cold shower. Always does the trick.

He pops the aspirin, dons his jacket and exits his apartment building, heading for his favourite health juice store round the corner.

He buys some weird, overpriced kale drink and keeps his head low as he walks back to his apartment. It’s then that he spots the newspaper in it’s rightful place - a bin. A blurred candid of him dominates the front page. The word ‘drunk’ is all he reads before he sandwiches it under his arm and ups his walking speed.

 

**_THE INTERNET’S MOST WEB-LIGIBLE BACHELOR IS AT IT AGAIN_ **

 

_Hello, Internet! I’m Dan Howell, and I hook up with someone new every week._

_Or at least that’s how it seems for the YouTube sensation, model and presenter._

_Pictures have surfaced exclusively to The Daily Mail of the 28 year old leaving (or should we say stumbling from drunkenly?) a V.I.P London club last night at 3am with an unknown female on his arm._

_A source close to Dan tells us that ‘he’s really trying to clean-up his bad boy persona and be seen as a role-model instead of a guy who sleeps with multiple women and never calls them.’_

 

He throws it across the room.

It’s a laughable, vacuous excuse for journalism and it doesn’t really bother him. It’ll bother the half-wits that read it, but not him. He’s been in and out of tabloids for years now, it’s not as if this is new to him.

With these sorts of articles, the supposed ‘source’ is usually a friend he had from ten years ago and the photo they choose to depict the situation is far from the truth.

Yes, he did leave the club at three in the morning, but no he hadn’t been that drunk and _no_ the woman on his arm had not been a girlfriend.

When a crazed fan attaches themselves to him without warning and catches him off guard when he’s a tad inebriated, it’s going to look entirely different. That’s the beauty of context, though, something papers consistently lack.

The slew of relationships and one-night-stands he’s been hailed as having on the other hand, they’re not completely off the mark there, except for the idea that they were all women. He’s pretty certain that there’s only been _one_ woman. Bisexuality is still a word that the media is scared of.

 

_The story is bullshit. The woman was a fan who lunged at me. I wasn’t that drunk._

 

He hits send on the text to his publicist and rubs at his temples with his fingertips. Hangovers never get easier. God, he’s getting too fucking old for this.

His iPhone screen is completely busted after its unexpected meeting with his wall yesterday, and seeing as he recently fired his assistant, he needs to go out again later and buy a new one by himself.

Instead, he opens his laptop.

  
  


 

Typing out and sending tweets feels like a form of therapy. It’s been so long since he’s taken matters into his own hands; Cassie and his publicist always telling him what to say and what not to say and writing tweets for him at times - he’s not weak, he doesn’t want to be seen as it and he refuses to become it.

He’s immediately flooded with replies, of course, and sifting through them he’s pleasantly surprised by how many are genuine and sweet: people offering condolences, wishing him well, telling him he’s brilliant for bringing the press down. It’s strangely empowering and he wonders if he should have been like this all along instead of allowing himself to become some sort of puppet to his management.

He resolves to finish it off by posting a photo of himself and PJ and captioning it with the words ‘goodbye tiny planet explorer.’

 

* * *

 

Depression is a ten letter word and his doctor said it to him a few weeks ago. When he said it, Dan laughed. What he received after that was a concerned frown. And then a packet of pills.

“Depression and panic disorder - the two tend to go hand in hand, but these should help you cope with it. I also recommend you consider getting counselling. Therapy can prove incredibly beneficial, I think you might like it. You don’t have to do this alone, Mr Howell.”

He wasn’t sure why he felt so surprised. As someone who had spent years joking about the mental illness and allowing self-deprecating thoughts to swallow him whole, he should have seen it coming.

When you hear the words from a professional it becomes much scarier and the bubble of denial you’ve been living in for a long time suddenly pops and all the crap that you’ve shielded yourself against is hitting you.

The tirade of scathing articles and epiphanies about what his life has turned into are hitting much harder now. Reality is sharper but his emotions are blurred - a side effect he’s felt from his tablets - and he can’t _feel_ properly. When PJ died he didn’t cry because he couldn’t cry. His best friend had died and he couldn’t shed a single tear.

It’s a battle between wanting to throw the tablets away and knowing he needs them. It’s a battle between wanting to call Phil and knowing Phil doesn’t want him to call.

He sits on his bed, the still cracked phone in his hand and Phil’s number on the screen.

So he presses ring in some stupid moment of what can only be described as reckless abandonment or pure loneliness.

It clicks to voicemail so quickly that it’s almost funny.

And his battle is lost.

 

* * *

 

His phone rings later. He’s editing his latest video, a montage of his time at London Fashion Week, and it lights up. He feels cold until he sees it’s Sophie.

 

“Hey, Soph,” he answers, voice raspy.

“Wow and I thought I sounded like crap,” she laughs, “How are you, Dan?”

Nobody wants you to ramble on about how awful things are when they ask that question, so Dan settles for a simple, “I’m getting there. How about you?”

“I’m...adjusting. I don’t know. Everyone tells me it’ll get easier one day, but it doesn’t seem possible.”

“I hope it is possible.”

“Me too. Um, I actually phoned for two reasons. Firstly, I wanted to thank you for your messages about PJ on Twitter. I’m sorry the press are being wankers. I appreciated what you said.”

Dan manages a small smile. “I’m tired of them writing things and getting away with it, I needed to put them in their place.”

“You definitely succeeded,” Sophie insists, sounding relieved. “It’s about time somebody did.”

“You, um, said there was something else?”

“Yeah, it’s about PJ’s will. We had it read yesterday and...well...he’s left you something.”

That’s a surprise. He hadn't realised PJ had written a will. “Oh, wow, really? What is it?”

Sophie clears her throat. “That’s the thing, Dan. It’s more a request than an item. He, shit, he um, I’m sorry to put you in this position, but he left something he wanted you and Phil do together.”

“Oh.” It seems to be the only word Dan can say but it feels sufficient.

 “Yeah...he never did have the best timing.”

 “Whatever it is, I’m happy to do it. I know things with me and Phil are, erm, strained,” he wants to laugh at the understatement of that word, “but I’ll put differences aside for anything. For PJ. For you.”

 “Thank you, Dan.” He can hear the tears thick in her voice. He really doesn’t understand how she’s keeping anything together but he couldn’t admire her any more than he already does.

 He takes a deep breath. “So, what crazy thing does he want us to do?”

 “I think it’s best you come here, to Brighton, and discuss it with Phil. I’ve already called him and he’s coming tomorrow. Is that too short notice?”

 There are multiple things jumping at him from that sentence. Phil tomorrow? Phil said yes? Tomorrow?

His calendar is bursting with planned meetings and events he’s supposed to attend and, if he’s honest, it can all go to hell right now. He made the wrong decision three years ago when he chose work over Phil and he can’t do that again.

Then again, he has no agent anymore, his publicist pretty much despises him and it's not as if he can't afford to take time off of work. Dropping everything to sort everything out. Is there irony in that?

There’s this weird feeling creeping through his chest, curling around his ribcage and fluttering with his heart. Phil agreed to see him and, yes, it’s for PJ and yes he’s selfish and doesn’t want to read into this too deeply, but less than a week ago he and Phil hadn’t spoken a single word in three years and now they keep being drawn together. The circumstances are heartbreaking, and perhaps he’s a bad person for wishing this might work out okay, but he has to try at least. Surely?

“I’ll be there.”


	3. aren't you tired of always being mad at the world?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which dan sees phil again and there's a stand-off

He’s either foolish, lonely, naive or all three, yet he gets in that car the next morning and goes to Brighton, gently reminding himself none of this is about him. 

The more he leaves London the more he realises he’s come to despise it. Once, he thrived in the vibe of the city and all of the possibilities it held; now he wants nothing to do with it. He’s not sure at which point he started to dislike living there, but with his tongue firmly pressed to his cheek he can definitely take a guess.   
The high-life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. He stifles a snort at his own thought. He wanted this. He lost absolutely everything he loved for this. And he’s got it. He’s got money he doesn’t need, a penthouse apartment that’s never felt like home and a depression that mocks him every morning when he can’t get out of bed.   
Teens come up to him and tell him they idolise him, wish they had his job and admire his intelligence and he wants to shake them and tell them how broken he is. Instead, he’ll take the selfie, give hugs and say thank-you because he remembers youthful innocence and wishes he still had some of that. 

The sea rolls into view from the taxi window and a wash of calm falls over him. As a kid, seaside trips were his favourite - making sandcastles, running away from the incoming tide, ice-creams that dripped all over your hands and then falling asleep on the way home. The seaside reminds him that things don’t always have to be complicated and that simplicity isn’t something he’s banned from having in his life.

-

The reunion with Phil isn’t bad. It isn’t good, but it isn’t bad. 

Sophie provides a hug, the nicest smile he’s seen in weeks and a mug of coffee that he all but downs the moment he sees Phil; he calls it liquid confidence or something.

The exchange is brief. Dan thinks it’s a little pathetic, actually. Obviously he hadn’t anticipated Phil getting up and hugging him, but he’d hoped for more that what he can describe as a head bop.

-

“He wrote the will about a year ago,” Sophie says, “When he got his, um, his diagnosis.” she fumbles a hand through her hair and clears her throat. “I told him he was silly to write it. We had a massive row. Well, I did. I cried and yelled and he did absolutely none of that. You know, he was the most effervescent and over the top man I’ve ever encountered, but boy he never once did raise his voice or get angry. Ever. I can’t be mad at him for that.”

She combs through the will bit by bit, listing off some books he’s left for Phil and some comics he knows Dan will treasure. It’s tear-inducing and there’s absolutely no way to hide the emotion emanating around the room, but it’s a soft sort of sad, a sad that you’re devastated about but comforted by, too. 

“Now, onto the request he left you both,” Sophie gazes between the two of them, sat far apart, didn’t say hello to each other, “I’m not going to get in the way of whatever it is you two are still...what’s the word? Quarreling about. But I know you’ll put your differences aside for this.”

“We’re in this for PJ. Nothing else matters.” Phil says.

Dan nods. “Definitely.”

“Wonderful, well basically it’s not too difficult, but, oh I’ll just read it out, it’s easier that way,” there’s a ruffle of papers and a deep, uneasy breath. “To my dearest friends, Daniel Howell and Philip Lester, I request for one half of my ashes to be scattered in the following places in London as you both know the place best: under trees at Hyde Park to remind myself of sunny days with the then Fantastic Foursome when we had no money but we had each other,” she pauses. 

Dan see’s Sophie’s gaze point to Phil, and he glances over too. They aren’t close anymore, but Dan stands by his knowledge that he knows Phil better than anybody. He can see the sweat dotted across his forehead and the remains of the colour that’s drained from his face. He’s not coping. 

Phil Lester is fiercely strong. He’s bold, he’s intelligent and Dan always knew he’d change the world one day. It took him time, he was methodical, cautious and calculated every risk and opportunity that ever came his way, but it worked. Every book they wrote together, every video and every job they faced went smoothly because of him.   
Phil Lester is fiercely strong and Dan can see that fierceness still as he watches his eyes slowly fill with tears and his hands begin to shake, but the fire is dwindling inside him since Dan’s exit and PJ’s death started to starve it.

Sophie says his name and then he stands up and leaves. All they can do is watch. Dan thinks the fire might have turned to ash now.

“I don’t know if I should be the one to go after him or not,” Dan says. 

“You’re his best friend, of course you should,” Sophie says.

“No, no I’m not. Not anymore,”

“You can think that if you like, Dan, but trust me, he still cares. He’s still Phil.”

-

Déjà vu is a funny thing. He’s walking down the same beach he walked down merely a week ago and the person he’s headed toward is the same person he was terrified of seeing last time he was here. 

The sea is boisterous today, untameable. It’s punching at the shore with every wave. It’s left the beach empty, minus the one person Dan can see leaning against the far wall at the perimeter. 

He approaches Phil with less caution that he did last time. Perhaps he’s becoming desensitized to people yelling at him these days, or he’s gained a dull acceptance that Phil will never see him as a friend again, no matter the history.

Phil doesn’t look at him. “Of course you followed me,” he mutters.

“Not quite. I didn’t want to come after you, but Sophie said I should. I do care, you know,” Dan says.

“How kind of you, Dan,”

Dan laughs and it’s one of humour for once. “See, this is why I said I shouldn’t. What’s the point? You don’t want to talk to me and I accept that, which isn’t something I ever wanted to be able to say, but hey if we’ve learnt anything it’s that things fucking change, Phil.”

Phil laughs too, but it’s the opposite of Dan’s. He steps forwards, finger raised. “Fuck you, Dan. Fuck everything you’ve done and everything you’ve just said,” he snarls, “I’ve lost my best friend and now he wants me to scatter his ashes in these, these places that are supposed to be happy and still make me happy now and it’s a massive lie!”

Dan’s jaw clenches. “PJ knew what he was doing. None of this is coincidental.”

“And now we get to insult him by not doing any of it. Hope you’re happy.”

“No, no you don’t get to make decisions like that, Phil. You don’t,” Dan all but spits, face scarlet, “Don’t you fucking dare. I miss him just as much as you, this is our job, like it or lump it, and we’re going to do it.”

There’s a silence between them, only Dan’s soft breaths from working himself up stands between them. Had he ever imagined they’d come to this? They can’t talk without yelling at each other. Red hot rage shouldn’t be the emotion they feel when they look at each other. 

“Phil, I don’t want to have a yelling match with you,” Dan says, exhaling heavily. He searches to meet Phil’s eyes, but they remain focused on the wild sea in front of them, every towering wave pummelling the water, throwing pebbles and spraying the sky.

“I don’t know how to be around you, anymore. It’s hard, Dan. I don’t know how to talk to you or what to say. You’re an entirely different person to me now.”

The words definitely hurt to hear, he can't pretend and he has no energy to. 

After the break-up, Dan rebuilt everything he had. He took any opportunity that came his way and didn't deliberate over it, he said yes to brand deals and trips and then as the money poured in he rented the biggest, flashiest penthouse apartment that London had to offer.   
Whenever people say that money doesn't guarantee happiness, he would scoff. Until he realised that's exactly what he was trying to achieve here, he was overspending on things he didn't need or particularly want just for the sake of it, and the effect would be temporary. He still went to bed alone, he still had nobody he could trust and he still felt empty.

He can't even remember the last time he felt happy; a happy that lasts and means something. At least, not in the last few years anyway. 

“Do you remember the day we got engaged?” 

Phil bristles, mouth twisted into disgust. “Are you that sadistic that you’re bringing that up?”

“No, but I’m going somewhere with this. Do you remember it?” 

“I’ll never forget it,”

“Do you remember what you said to me? I’d come back from New York and we’d argued before I left because I’d found the ring. It was our biggest fight and I was sick to my stomach the entire journey home. I remember convincing myself that I’d get back to the flat and you’d be gone. But you were there, and you’d lit all those candles in a massive heart shaped circle and you were in the middle of it on one knee in our living room,"

“Keep twisting the knife in my back, please,”

Dan rolls his eyes but carries on nevertheless, “You said to me that as lovers we were unstoppable. And then you said this, and this has always stayed with me, you said that as best friends we were strong, we had a bond, and that no matter what the future held we’d stick together and we’d come out the other side a little scuffed up but it would be worth it,"

Phil meets Dan’s eyes. “What’s your point, Dan?” 

“We’re fucked beyond repair by this point. It’d be like trying to fix a crack in a building with sellotape, but you told me we’d stick together, and this is one of those times we need to. I know you hate me, I don’t blame you, but we need to do this for PJ. And if we’re going to, we’re going to have to be civil,”

“I don’t know if I can, Dan,” Phil whispers, head dropping, “It’s too hard.” 

“It is hard but after this you can forget I exist again. You can get on with your life and never have to see me ever again, I can make that happen, but you can do it knowing that we’ve done what PJ wanted. This isn’t about us, this is for our friend who was there for both of us when we needed him the most, and now he needs us to do the same for him,”

Behind them, the sea begins to lull a little, calmed by rays of sun that have managed to poke through steel clouds above. 

“What do you say, Phil? For PJ?”

Phil takes a deep breath, his gaze roving their surroundings and then fixing on Dan. Dan's wearing these figure hugging black skinny jeans a simple long, black shirt. He looks as if he's filled out or works out, his arms seem a lot musclier than Phil ever recalls but he's still slender and broad shouldered. His hair is what intrigues Phil the most. He's let it go curly now, unruly, but in a good way that frames his face. Most guys would look like pretentious idiots, but Dan pulls it all off, which is actually more infuriating than Phil would let on. 

He's still Dan. He's still the person who he trusted with his entire life and who was his entire world. Except he's also a stranger. 

And then Dan holds his hand out. It’s a gesture he does on impulse that he’s afraid of and is hoping doesn’t look too weird or corporate. But then again, maybe that’s what this needs to be, or what this is, some sort of business deal between them.

Phil runs a hand through his hair. “Can you believe this is life now? Stiff handshakes and promises that you’ll disappear soon?”

Dan keeps his hand there, outstretched and steady. “Life’s a bitch.”

“I can shake on that,”

“For PJ?” 

“Only for PJ.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologise. I lost my passion for writing dan/phil fanfiction for a while, and as a result I stopped posting altogether. I think I'd lost sight of things and to be honest a lot has changed now. I had a mental dip and now I'm doing a lot better, so I opened up word and this chapter came out. 
> 
> I hope this is okay and I'm sorry it's been so long. I promise the next wait won't be as bad at ALL.
> 
> Give me a week or two and it'll be updated. 
> 
> Love you pals.


End file.
